Stephanie
TWENTY-THREE
We never got past the why stage.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he grumbles.
I look back at the screen as my stomach twists into knots.
How much does he know? The Cliffs Notes or the gory details?
I squeeze my eyes closed and wage a silent battle with the demons in my head telling me how ugly I am inside and out.
How I could never be attractive to a man because I’m ruined.
It’s a mess of emotions that rears its head at the worst possible times.
I don’t want him to see me as a victim; I want to be a woman in his eyes.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because reading your file alongside previous victims is not good for your mental health.”
“No, James. Why do you even have it in the first place?”
“You’re being hunted, and I am hunting the hunter. It’s never been more dangerous for you, but I have to see you as he does.”
I shake my head and flip my eyes open to glare at him. “That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”
He folds his arms and tilts his head. “Every piece of information I have is something he’ll be able to figure out.”
I move the mouse and flick open the file history.
“You are acting like you put this together this week.” I tap the screen.
“And yet my file was created months ago, James. The strawberries, the way I get lost in a book, the lilies... they aren’t recent observations you made with the excuse that I’m in danger. So I’m asking you again. Why?”
He sighs. “Why? Because after years of keeping my sister safe by bending to the will of a sick man, I threw all of that to the wind when I saw your vulnerable body dangling from a chain, and I made the decision to put a woman I didn’t know first. Why?
I don’t know, sweetheart.” He stalks closer and leans over me, his damp T-shirt brushing my cheek as he slams the laptop shut.
I freeze when he cages me in the chair with his arms resting against the table behind me.
He smells divine, of soap, citrus, and something inherently manly that makes my head swim.
He’s so close, and I don’t want to run away. I want to be carried in his arms.
He tilts his head down as I tilt mine back to meet his eyes. “Why?” I ask again.
“Because you are the sibling of the man my sister loves.”
That’s deflection if I’ve ever heard it. I reach up and trail my fingers across his jawline, marveling at the way the scruff flexes against my touch. “Why?”
His eyes flutter closed. “Because you are you and deserve all the love and light in the world.”
“You can’t promise me that in a world you don’t control.”
“I can damn well try.”
“James, look at me.”
For a heartbeat I think he’s going to refuse, but then he gives me those impossibly blue eyes that have featured in my fantasies since the day I met him. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Wrong.”
“You are wrong, not I.”
I have the urge to wrap my hands around his neck and...
kiss him? Oh my days. Would I even know how to kiss at this point?
It’s been far too long. My lips tingle in anticipation.
His gaze flicks to my mouth like he’s imagining the exact same thing.
Come on, James, take the chance. Make that choice, because I don’t have the confidence to do it for us.
“If you hadn’t met me, you would never have crossed paths with Burnside.”
“You’re twisting facts and trying to find logic in the chaos.
Christopher would have been at the gala, as would I.
Maybe he wouldn’t have picked me out of the many women there that night, and maybe he would have.
But that isn’t on you. I could have been invisible in a crowd or attracted his sick instincts.
We will never know, because that isn’t our reality. ”
He tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his eyes softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “You could never be invisible, Stephanie.” His thumb sweeps across my cheek. “But Burnside is making a play for my position, and he’s trying to get as much collateral as possible to control me.”
“Can’t you see you’ve argued my point? You’re saying we’re connected through our siblings, not through any chance meeting or rescue.”
“Sometimes I hate your whip-smart brain.”
My lips curve. “Sadly for you, I can still see that you haven’t answered my original question. Why, James? Why have you been keeping a detailed file on me with facts not necessary to keep me safe? Why does it read like a dossier on what makes me happy, sad, and everything in between?”
His fingers curl under my chin, and his breath skates across my lips, making them part.
“Sadly for you, I don’t have to answer.” He releases me and turns on his heel to stalk toward his bedroom.
I growl low and grab the first thing my hand finds and launch it at his head.
The delicate fruit splats against his back and drops to the floor.
He freezes, then spins to look between me and the offending item.
In for a penny, in for a pound and all that.
He needs to know he can’t just walk away like a stomping child.
I realize how hypocritical I’m being by throwing fruit at him like a tantrumming toddler.
I guess we’re both behaving like idiots, but he started it when I was trying to have a sensible conversation.
He blinks at me as if he’s trying to decide whether to ignore me or laugh. Or whether to spank me. Whoa, where did that come from? “You missed,” he growls in a way that has my stomach flipping.
I’m not thinking as I launch another. Then another. This time, I hit his cheek, and it explodes, splattering red juice across his face.
He slowly drags his thumb through the crushed strawberry on his cheek before looking down at the stain. When his eyes lift back to mine, they’re darker than before. “You’re testing your luck.”
I grab another, ready to fight with strawberry bullets, because I’m committed to the cause now. He grasps my wrists, and in a split second, has them pinned behind my back in one of his hands.
My breath catches. Strawberries have never looked quite so damn tempting.
“Clean it off,” he demands.
“I would, but you appear to have my hands trapped.”
He’s not hurting me, and I’m also not panicking in the way I should by being at his mercy. Perhaps it’s because he looks a second away from being as out of control as I feel.
He grasps my chin with his free hand and holds me steady. “Use your imagination, sweetheart. You are a resourceful woman.”
Does he mean.... No, he can’t, right? Except he’s not releasing me. It’s a challenge I am helpless to answer because one key thing is missing on his little master list of Stephanie King’s psyche... I never back down from a challenge. It’s both a blessing and a curse.
He’s pushing me, trying to see how far I am willing to go. For a man who watches me from the shadows with no other intention than to keep me safe... all the way.
My nose skims his jawline. He stills at the contact, but his thumb sweeps across the pulse point in my wrist, a reassuring caress I doubt he’s aware of.
My tongue flicks out against the juice dripping down his cheek. His chest expands, and his breathing grows heavier as I get bolder with my attentions.
“There’s some on your neck,” I point out as I move lower. He lifts his head, giving me access. I graze my teeth across his pulse, making his throat bob. He smells freaking divine, like the forest, hot showers, and soft cotton sheets.
For a heartbeat, I consider kissing him. He’s so close. It would take nothing to eradicate the distance.
As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, he shifts back, breaking contact and stealing my opportunity. What did I miss? Do I smell or something?
Of course, he doesn’t want you. It’s an insidious thought that worms its way into my mind and won’t let go.
He quirks a brow. “What have you learned?”
“That strawberries are elevated when thrown in anger and licked off in apology.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe he has to deal with me.
I won’t make myself lesser, smaller, or inconsequential for any man.
If that means I live the rest of my days alone, then at least I will have stayed true to myself.
Statistically, there has to be someone out there who would love me for me.
But I don’t want someone. I want this one.
Damn. That hurts, because I’m pretty sure he’s the one that’s off-limits.
“You are impossible,” he mutters, but his gaze is still stuck on my mouth. He grabs a fresh strawberry from the bowl and taps it against my lips. “Let me demonstrate how one eats a strawberry like a lady.”
This isn’t going to go the way he expects, but I’m happy to let him live in la-la land for a few more seconds where he imagines he has complete control.
My mouth parts, and he skims the fruit across my sensitive bottom lip before pushing forward.
I sink my teeth down, holding it hostage.
Thinking he’s won whatever weird game we’re playing, he releases it and moves backward.
I launch forward, still trapped with my hands behind my back, and press it against his mouth with a squeal of victory at the shocked look on his face.
Taunting him is my new favorite hobby.
He licks his lips and looks tormented for a heartbeat as he decides how to handle me. Easy—by giving us both what we want and kissing me.
“Stephanie.”
I grin. “James.”
“This right here is why, sweetheart.”
Then he flies out of the lodge, passing the ax stuck in the wood, and I’m left wondering because it’s still not clear.
Why?